


Finding Christmas  (A Snapchat Christmas Story)

by thestoryinsideme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, Charlie/Dorothy make an appearance, Christmas, Christmas Destiel, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Romance, Christmas in the Bunker, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, POV Dean Winchester, Romance, a little happiness before the promised darkness of 10.9, casdean?, holiday destiel, holiday fic, holiday romance, sometime in the very near future, supernatural Christmas, supernatural universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestoryinsideme/pseuds/thestoryinsideme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean snaps his headphones in place over his ears and drops his iPod into his shirt pocket.  He is not going to listen to Christmas music here in the bunker. He is not going to buy presents.  He is not going to hang stockings, and he most definitely, without a doubt, is not going to help decorate a Christmas tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by and can/should be read in conjunction with the snapchat tumblr post ["Christmas in the Bunker"](http://ssjdebusk.tumblr.com/post/104235216665/ssjdebusk-christmas-in-the-bunker-requested>) created by ssjdebusk.

Dean snaps his headphones in place over his ears and drops his iPod into his shirt pocket.  He is not going to listen to Christmas music here in the bunker. He is not going to buy presents.  He is not going to hang stockings, and he most definitely, without a doubt, is not going to help decorate a Christmas tree. 

It wouldn’t even be an issue but for the fact that he was outvoted.  It was the kind of thing that happens regularly now that Cas lives with them in the bunker. So he offers no assistance when Sam drags a nine-foot Christmas tree down the bunker stairs and into the main living area.  He sneers in their direction when he notices Castiel following behind, his arms full of precariously stacked, beat-up boxes stuffed with tangled lights and old ornaments that he got from god-only-knows-where.

The two of them make quick work of setting the tree into its stand while Dean sits on the couch and pretends to read a magazine. After several minutes, he looks up to see Sam glaring at him with his hands on his hips.

Dean pulls off his headphones.  “What?”

“C’mon Dean.  Why don’t you help us with the tree?  It’ll be fun.”

“Let me think about it.  No.”

“I mean, you do know that this is Cas’s first real Christmas, right?  Don’t you want to be a part of that?”

Dean hates it when Sam uses that high and mighty judgmental tone because it usually means he is right.  And he _is_ right.  Dean hadn’t really considered that his newly human friend had never had an earthly Christmas. But to be fair, the Winchesters never really made it much of a practice to celebrate Christmas, or any other holidays, at all.  “Why would I?”

“Really, Dean?”  Sam frowns and shakes his head.

“Sam, it’s fine.”  Castiel lays his hand on Sam’s arm.

Luckily, Sam’s phone rings.  When he answers it and leaves the room to talk, Dean flips his headphones back on. 

Castiel gawks at the box of glittery ornaments like it’s pirate’s booty.  He selects a few, looks them over carefully, then begins to place them on the tree.

Dean sighs, then tugs his headphones off, rolls his eyes at the awful Christmas music.  “Hey, Cas?  Not yet.”

Castiel looks over his shoulder at him, “Not yet?”

“Yeah.”  Dean points at the tree and twirls his finger around in circles. “You’ve gotta wrap the lights around the tree before you hang the ornaments.”

“Why?”

“Why?  Because they’ll be in the way and you won’t be able to get the lights on properly.”

“Oh, of course.  Thank you, Dean.” 

Castiel puts the ornaments back into the box and squats down to pick up a tangled string of lights.   As Dean pulls the headphones back up over his ears, he hears the faintest of sounds coming from Castiel and it takes him several seconds to realize that the sound is singing.  Castiel is singing.  He is singing along with that awful Christmas music with his deep, gravelly, and surprisingly soft voice.   

Once his headphones are firmly back in place, he no longer hears Castiel sing, which is fine because frankly, he’s kind of off-tune anyway. It’s interesting, though.  He’s never heard Castiel sing anything before.  But since Sam is still on the phone and Castiel clearly has no idea what he is doing, he turns his iPod music off so he can hear Castiel again, but he leaves the headphones in place. He doesn’t want Castiel to think that he’s sitting there just listening to the angel sing Christmas carols, because that is absolutely _not_ what he’s doing.  He’s listening in case Castiel has a question or, heaven forbid, something strange or possessed comes out of one of those old boxes.  In Dean's experience, both scenarios are equally possible.

“Hey, are you sure you don’t want to help?”

Dean startles a little, then looks up when Sam taps his shoulder.  Even with his own music off, he didn’t hear Sam come back in.  He’s somehow gotten caught up watching Castiel patiently try six ways to Sunday to unravel the jumbled pile of tiny white lights, all the while singing The Twelve Days of Christmas.  And when the hell did Castiel learn all the words to _that_ song?

He jerks his headphones off and tosses them on the coffee table.  “Yeah, still no, Sammy.”

Sam exhales heavily through the tight line of his lips. “Whatever.  But I need a favor.  That call was from Carlos, and he needs my help.”

Dean jumps up.  “A hunt?  We’ve got a hunt?  I’m down.”

“Don’t get too excited, Dean.  Not a hunt.  Research.  He needs help with some research.  Are you 'down' for that?”

Dean backs away from Sam slowly.  “You know, I think I’ll just help Cas, here. You go do what you’ve gotta do with the computer and the books and the, uh, research stuff.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”  Sam runs his hand through his hair. “Here’s the thing. This research is going to take a while, and I promised Cas I’d take him shopping for gifts today too.   Do you mind?”

Dean sighs.  He can take Cas to a few stores, maybe even convince him to buy some stupid crap for Sam, or he can do research.  It really isn’t much of a choice.

“Sure, no problem.  I’ll take him.”

Sam nods.  “I really want to be involved with Cas’s first Christmas. It’s kind of important. So could you take a few pictures here and there with the phone?  Maybe send them to me so I can sort of be included? You know, be part of it?”

“Uhm, no.”

“Come on, Dean.  It’s not that hard.  I showed you how.  It’ll take you two seconds.  That’s all. Or I’ll help Cas and you can research.  Or I can tell Carlos—“

“Fine.  I’ll do it.”  Dean throws his head back in defeat. 

“Great.”  Sam smiles and pats Dean on the arm, then goes to Castiel and tells him what he has to do and that Dean will be taking his place.  Castiel resists a little at first, offers to help Sam with the research, but Sam insists they go ahead with the day as planned because it is already Christmas Eve, and Castiel reluctantly agrees.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Dean says to Castiel after Sam leaves to start his research.

Castiel nods.  “Likewise.”

“So what are we doing here?”  Dean points to the heap of twisted wire and bulbs.

Castiel lets out a frustrated sigh, shakes his head. “Dean, it won’t untangle. I don’t know what to do.”

Dean laughs, then pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the knotted lump of lights, types in a caption and sends it to Sam.

“I’ll tell you exactly what we do.” Dean slips his phone back into his pocket.  “We go buy some new ones.”

“All right.”  Castiel smiles and nods, and Dean sends Sam a quick text letting him know that he is taking Castiel Christmas shopping.

 ______________________________

 

Buying lights for the tree is the easy part. Getting Castiel to focus on shopping for presents proves to be much more difficult.  Castiel wants to sit down and drink coffee, he wants to stop and listen to the choir singing Christmas songs, he wants to watch while deft-handed employees wrap gifts at the department store.  Dean nixes all those requests and instead guides him toward the men's clothing department to help him pick out something for Sam.

“Do you really think Sam would like this?”  Castiel holds up the thick woolen sweater Dean has suggested.

“Oh, he’ll love it.  I promise you.”  Dean bites back a smirk.  “I mean, who wouldn’t?  It’s got everything.  Snowflakes, reindeer, pine trees.  It’s like a Christmas bonanza.”

Castiel stares at it, head tilted, unconvinced.  He brings his hand up to his chin and Dean can’t deny that the intense thought that Castiel is putting into this gift thing is nothing short of adorable. He almost feels guilty.

“It’s warm,” Dean adds in an attempt to get him off the fence about it.  “You want Sam to be warm, don’t you?”

“True.”

“And there's no way he’d ever buy it for himself. The whole idea is to give something that the person wants, but would never get for himself.”

“Oh, I see.”  Castiel nods, then folds the sweater over his arm. “Then I will get him this.”

Dean grins, probably too smugly.  He pulls out his phone and can’t help but snicker while he takes a picture of the holiday sweater display to send to Sam later. 

Helping the angel is not nearly as tedious as he thought it would be.  Castiel is fascinated by the most trivial things, and it makes him laugh, reminds him of the time they spent together the night before he and Castiel trapped Rafael in the holy oil fire. 

“Who would want jeans called Apple Bottom?” Castiel asks Dean question after question.  “Is there truly a need for an entire store that sells nothing but candy?”  “Why is everyone bundled up in scarves and hats while inside the mall?”

“Because it’s cold, Cas.”  Dean adjusts his knit cap to cover his ears.  “Aren’t you cold?”

“Not at all.” 

Dean pulls his hand out of his pocket and places the flat of his palm against Castiel’s forehead.  “Well I’ll be damned,” he says.  “You’re pretty hot.”

Castiel narrows his eyes and Dean waves his hand.

“I mean your body is hot,” he tries to clarify, but all it does is make Castiel cant his head and look at him.

“Fuck,” Dean mumbles under his breath, wonders why he is suddenly unable to make the right words come out of his mouth. “Not hot hot.  I mean your heat, your, your temperature.  That’s the word.”

“Of course, Dean.”

“Not that you’re not hot hot, because you are also that.” Dean’s not sure why he added that, except possibly because it is true.

“Well, thank you.”

“No reason to thank me.”  Now would be a good time to stop talking. “You’re an attractive guy, Cas.”

“All right.”

He really needs to shut his trap since he’s having such difficulty controlling what comes out of it, but Castiel’s lip is beginning to curl up on one side and his lopsided smile is one of Dean’s favorites.

Castiel dips his chin and shrugs.  “For reasons unknown to me but most likely associated with my angelic origins, my core temperature runs a few degrees higher than the average human,” Castiel explains to Dean as he pulls off his jacket and flings it over his shoulder. 

“Really?”

"Yes, Dean.”

"Huh," is all that Dean can come up with.

Turns out that shopping with Castiel does not suck. Castiel gets in on the photo action, takes a picture of Dean clowning around in the denim section of the store and sends it to Sam.  He had forgotten how much he enjoyed the fallen angel’s company.  In the short time Castiel had been at the bunker, Dean had avoided spending time alone with him, and he was beginning to remember why. But when Castiel decides he wants to separate for a while so he can buy a gift for Dean, Dean balks.

“First off, I don’t want you to _buy_ me anything,” he says, pointing his finger at Castiel. “Secondly, this place is busier than a vamp in a blood bank right now, and you could get lost.”

“I have my phone," Castiel counters.  "And this is an enclosed structure. It would be impossible for me to get lost in such a finite space.  We can meet back here in an hour.”

Dean was just starting to almost actually _enjoy_ shopping with Castiel, but he agrees and decides to do some shopping of his own.  He heads to the bookstore and chooses a book for Sam and something for Castiel.  He kills some more time by taking pictures of the mall decorations and bombarding Sam with the photos.  After fifty minutes, Dean finds himself anxiously counting down to the hour's end and scanning the crowd for a glimpse of messy dark hair.

When Castiel is five minutes late, Dean is concerned. Castiel is always annoyingly prompt. Dean calls him, but it goes straight to voice mail.   After ten minutes, Dean is alarmed, and when ten minutes becomes fifteen, Dean panics. 

He calls Sam, who apparently does not share the same urgency as Dean and instead reminds him that Castiel was once a celestial soldier and can probably safely maneuver a suburban shopping mall without too much trouble.

Dean scoffs, waits only another minute before he starts searching.  The mall is big, two levels, and crowded with last-minute shoppers.  It’s the perfect place for all sorts of supernatural beings to hide in plain sight, and regardless of Castiel’s past experience, the bottom line is that he no longer has any powers and he is just a man.  

Dean moves quickly and roughly through the mobs of people before he finds him. The relief that washes over and through his entire body when he finally spots him is pretty damn unsettling, so he stops for a few moments and watches.

Castiel appears deep in conversation with an elderly white-haired man on one of the mall benches.  He nods at the man, who holds tightly onto his cane even as he sits, then looks up and sees Dean, smiles at him. Dean raises his eyebrows and holds up his arm, taps the watch on his wrist to let Castiel know he is late.  Castiel gestures for Dean to come over, waves at him insistently until he eventually complies.

“Cas, buddy, I was worried.”  Dean offers a hurried smile to the old man next to Castiel.

“I am very sorry, Dean.”  Dean stands in front of him.  He clenches his bag from the bookstore in one hand, the other rests loosely on his hip.  Castiel looks up at him, his brows pushed together, muddled.  “But why were you worried?”

“So this is Dean.”  It’s not a question, Dean notes.  He shoves his hands in his pockets, shifts uncomfortably as the man strokes his beard, appraises him with a wrinkled smile.   “I believe he was afraid he was going to lose you, Castiel.”

Castiel huffs out a tiny chuckle as he gets up. “I told you that was not possible, Dean.”

“Oh yeah?”  For a split second Dean thinks Castiel means something else, maybe  _wants_ him to mean something else, and his cheeks flush. “Right, right. Finite space.”

“It has been a pleasure conversing with you,” Castiel says to his new acquaintance.  “I hope you have a Merry Christmas.”

The man stands, leans briefly on his cane before he shakes Castiel’s hand with both of his.  “I have no doubt that you will,” he says, then twists around to face Dean. “And you will too young man, should you choose to.” 

Dean glances back over at the man as they walk away and sniggers.  “If you wanted a visit with Santa, you should have just told me.”

“Oh, that wasn’t Santa.”  There’s not the slightest hint of insincerity in Castiel’s voice.  “He’s currently without a home and needed money for a hotel room tonight.”

“Aww, Cas, please tell me you didn’t give him—“ Dean stops.  The look on Castiel’s face answers the question before it is asked.

“It’s cold outside, as you’ve said, and it’s Christmas,” Castiel aptly points out.

Dean shrugs.  “Whatever.  It’s your money.  Since you’re broke, how about I buy you that coffee now before we take off?”

"Oh, yes please."  Castiel seems overjoyed by the simple offer. “I’d like that very much, Dean.”

______________________________

 

“So what did you tell the old guy about me?” Dean watches Castiel’s lips pucker as he blows gently into his cup of coffee before taking a sip.

“Nothing, really.”  Castiel’s eyes dart around the crowded food court. “I may have mentioned that you do not take much pleasure in the upcoming holiday.”

“I like Christmas just fine.”  He sighs, wraps both hands around his latte, meshing his fingers together.  “It’s just…hard, sometimes.”

“How so?”

Dean scoots his chair closer to the table and props his elbows on the flat surface, leans in toward Castiel.  “Well, we moved around a lot when we were kids. Spent a shit-ton of time in motel rooms.”

Castiel nods, listening.

“I knew we were never going to be the Waltons, but Dad made it a point to be home for Christmas every year, brought us each a present. At least until I was twelve years old. Sammy was only eight, and Dad didn’t make it home that year, or hardly any year after that, really.  Hunting was always his priority, and it seemed like the monsters kicked it up a notch around the holidays.”

“He left you and Sam alone for Christmas.”

“But he would usually call.”  Dean’s a bit surprised at how defensive those words come out.  “Then one time he called, and it was pretty obvious that he wasn’t hunting.  He was drunk.  He must’ve been at a bar or something.  I could hear people, music.   And that’s when I realized that it wasn’t the monsters keeping him away."  

“I’m sorry, Dean.” 

"Point is, I'm not the guy you should be learning about Christmas from.”

Castiel slides his hand across the table and takes hold of Dean’s, squeezing it gently.  Dean freezes.  He looks at it for a few moments, Castiel’s hand over his, his thumb rubbing along Dean’s knuckles. It feels good, nice to have someone touch him this way.  But not now.  Not here. He pulls his hand away sharply.

“What the hell, Cas?”

“I apologize.  I was merely offering comfort.”

“Yeah, well, don’t do that.  I’m not…” he stops himself before he says something he might regret.  Something he isn’t so sure is even true.

But he thinks he should say _something._   Castiel looks so…sad, and Dean feels kind of like a dick.  His mind tries to sort through what he could say and what he should say, measuring the differences, but nothing seems right at the moment.

Castiel stands up.  “I’m done shopping.  We can go now, if you’d like."

“Okay, yeah, I’ve got what I need too.”  He holds up his bag.  “And one of these is for you, so no peeking.”

“For me?”  Castiel is genuinely surprised that Dean has bought something for him.  His entire face lights up with his gummy, infectious smile, and Dean takes it to mean that he is forgiven.  “I thought you weren’t going to--”

“I’m not.  And don’t give me that look.  It’s just something I saw that you happen to need.  You know, like underwear.”

“You bought me underwear?”

“No, it’s not actually underwear. It’s just, it’s nothing. Don’t get too excited because you’ll only be disappointed when you see it’s nothing.”

Castiel bites his bottom lip and stays mum, but doesn’t stop smiling at him and Dean feels good about that.  The angel gathers up his bags, and Dean can’t help but notice that he looks completely out of place wearing only his short-sleeved shirt with no coat or hat.

“Where’s your jacket?” Dean asks as he slips his arms into his own.

“I gave it to Chris.”

“Who’s Chris?”

“The gentleman I was talking to.”

Dean frowns.  “You gave him your money _and_ your jacket?”

“Yes, I did.  He needed both.”

Dean is about to lecture Castiel about literally giving people the clothes off of his back when the phone in his pocket vibrates. It’s a photo message from Sam.

Dean snickers when he sees it, holds the phone out for Cas to see it too before it disappears.  “Well isn’t that a thing of beauty,” he says.  “We need to get back to the bunker now.”

“It’s a piece of pie, Dean.”

“It’s apple pie with caramel and pecans on top. We’re out of here.” Dean does not respond to Sam’s _caption of how much do you love me?_ because pie or no pie, Sam knows the answer.

They almost get out of the mall quickly. Almost.  It’s near the exit that they are accosted by a frisky redhead dressed in a way-too-revealing elf costume.  

“Hey gorgeous, want some mistletoe?” She holds up a sprig of the plant tied with a red bow.  “Only five dollars.”

“Yeah, no thanks sweetheart,” Dean says with his usual smugness.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”  Sexy Elf side-eyes him with contempt, then smiles sweetly at Castiel.  “I’m talking to blue eyes over here.” 

“What’s mistletoe?”  Castiel asks.  “Does it have to do with Christmas?”

“Why yes it does, honey.”  The woman steps closer to Castiel, holding the leaves above her head.  “Would you like a demonstration?”

Confused, Castiel furrows his brow as she breaches his personal space. Dean shoves his arm between them, pushes Castiel back.

“Hey, hey, put that away now,” Dean snarls at the woman. “I told you, we’re not interested.”  He grabs Castiel by the arm and guides him toward the glass exit doors.  

“Sorry cowboy. I didn’t know,” he hears her call out from behind them. 

Once they are out the door and far enough away that he deems Castiel to be safe, he releases his arm, mumbles something under his breath about the nerve of some people.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says, folding his arms across his chest to warm himself.  “What is mistletoe?”

Dean rolls his eyes.  “Never mind.  You look a little cold there, Cas.  Regret giving your only warm jacket away now?”

Castiel shakes his head, uncrosses his arms with defiance. “I can get another one. And I’m perfectly fine.”

“Sure you are.  Sam’s gotta see this.”  Castiel tries to walk away, but Dean keeps up with him and manages to takes a picture of him in all his short-sleeved glory, captions it and sends it to Sam.  He drops his phone back into his pocket, then holds up one hand and stops walking.

Castiel stops too.  “What is it?”

Dean yanks the cap off of his head, and puts it on Castiel, carefully pulling it down over Castiel’s red-tipped ears. “You need to keep your ears warm,” he tells him.

Castiel looks up at him from beneath his thick, black lashes and shit, Dean has never really noticed those before.  His eyes, yes.  Who hasn’t, really?  But those lashes…

“Why thank you, Dean.  That’s very thoughtful.”

Tufts of Castiel’s dark hair poke out from under the knit edges of the beanie, and Dean tucks the stray strands in as he speaks. “At Christmas time, people hang mistletoe up high, and if you find yourself under it with someone else, you’re supposed to kiss them.”

“Oh,” Castiel says.  “But why mistletoe?  As opposed to some other plant?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why kiss?  Why not hug or shake hands?”

“No idea.”

“I see.”  Castiel squints at Dean, and his nose scrunches in a way that for some strange reason makes Dean’s stomach flip.  “So the elf woman was going to kiss me?”

“Looked like it.”  He plants his hand on Castiel’s shoulder.  “Good thing I was there.”

“You didn’t want her to kiss me?”

No, he didn’t.  He didn’t want Sexy Elf or any other goddamn person in the world kissing Castiel.  "What now?”

“Why didn’t you want her to kiss me?”

Dean rolls one shoulder casually, takes a few seconds to come up with something.  “Kissing strangers is unsanitary.”

“You do it all the time.”

“I  _used_ to do it."  Dean grunts, annoyed.  "Not anymore.”

Dean sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at his boots.  He can feel Castiel’s eyes on him, watching him while they stand in silence for what must be a frigging eternity.

“Let’s go get some mistletoe, Dean.” Castiel says it softly, tentatively. 

It’s an invitation, an opening.  He knows that much by how the words are said, by the way Castiel continues to study his face as he waits for an answer.  Dean wants to say yes.  He wants to ignore all the crap churning around inside his head and just say yes.  But it’s not that simple.  It's not that easy.  “I don’t think so, Cas,” he says instead. 

“You know, Chris says that most people know how to be happy, but some are just afraid to be.”

“What the fuck?  Now you’re going to psychoanalyze me based on what some washed up old mall Santa told you?”  Dean grits his teeth and throws his arms into the air.  “Seriously?”

“He isn’t a –“

“I don’t care!”  Dean’s voice is louder than it should be.  “I said no.  I don’t want any goddamned mistletoe.”

Castiel’s face falls.  “All right, Dean,” he says and he begins to walk. Dean stays several feet behind him as they move wordlessly down the sidewalk, through the parking lot, to the car.

 ______________________________

 

Dean eats his pie alone in the kitchen, and he’s not enjoying it.  The pie is delicious, and each bite should be bringing him one step closer to ecstasy, but it’s not and he knows exactly why. 

Castiel disappeared into the bunker after the freakishly long and silent drive home. Dean considers looking for him, but he doesn’t quite know what he would say once he found him, so he doesn’t. Instead he eats pie and sulks, and that is how Sam finds him.

“So, loving the pie?”

“You know it,” Dean says, but he can’t seem to muster up the enthusiasm the words suggest.  “You’re the best, bro.”

Sam chuckles, pulls out the pivoting seat and sits at the table across from Dean.  “Where’s Cas?”

Dean shrugs.  “Dunno.  Around.”

Sam snorts and Dean drops his fork, looks at him with raised brows.  “What?”

Sam shakes his head, sucks in his lips. “I don’t know, Dean. You tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Something happened with Cas.”

“No.  Nothing happened with Cas.”

“Well, maybe that’s the problem.”

Dean’s eyes widen. 

Sam leans back in his chair, combs fingers through his hair. “Look, Dean.  You’re no longer a demon, Cas is no longer an angel. You don’t have the Mark anymore and he doesn’t have powers anymore.  Don’t you think it’s time?  I mean, dude, what are you waiting for?”

“What the hell do you mean, Sam?  What makes you think I want to—“

“Dean I _know_ you,” Sam cuts him off.  “I know everything about you.  I know what you love," he points to the plate of pie, "and I know _who_ you love.  Maybe it’s time you figured it out too.”

Thank god for this pie because Dean is able to cram half of what’s left of his over-sized slice into his mouth so he doesn’t have to respond to Sam.

“Okay I get it.  We don’t have to talk.  Just think about it, Dean.”  Sam is looking at him with those infernal puppy dog eyes and Dean can hardly stand it.  “I love you. Cas loves you. Think about what it is that really makes you happy.”

Sam stands and pats Dean on the back before he leaves him alone with his thoughts and his pie.

 ______________________________

 

“Hey, Sam, smile for the camera.” 

Sam is wearing another one of his v-neck sweaters, and Dean takes the picture before he even looks up from his computer. He grins while he taps in the message, sends the snap to Castiel.

“Where have you been?"  Sam looks at his watch.  "It’s eleven p.m.  We finished the tree without you.”

“I went for a ride.  Have you seen Cas?”

“Dungeon.”

“Really?  Okay, then.  I’ll be in the dungeon.”

Dean leaves before Sam has a chance to question him. He heads straight to the dungeon where Castiel is sitting on the floor, leaning against a shelf, reading a book.

“How did you find me?” he asks.

“Finite space.” Dean plops down next to him, uninvited. “You know, the last time Sam and I did Christmas was about eight years ago.” 

Castiel looks at Dean and closes his book, sets it aside.

“Sort of a Christmas for old time’s sake before I went to Hell.  Sam didn’t even want to, if you can believe that.  I actually called him the boy who hates Christmas. I was the one pushing it because I figured it would be my last one.  But it wasn’t.  Because of you.”

Castiel dips his head, and Dean detects a hint of a smile on his full, chapped lips.

“There was only one more Christmas for me after that. When I was living with Lisa and Ben.  That time it was very traditional.  Jingle bells, stockings hung by the chimney with care, chestnuts roasting on an open fire, the whole nine.  There was even Christmas caroling, if you can picture that.”

Castiel laughs quietly.  “Did you enjoy that Christmas?”

Dean nods several times.  “I did. I truly did.  Reminded me of the only Christmas I can remember before Mom died. But I didn’t think I _should_ enjoy it. I mean, I felt like it wasn’t fair.  That it wasn’t right. I thought Sammy was in Hell, and you vamoosed out of there without even saying goodbye to keep on fighting the fight, and I didn’t think I deserved to have a Christmas while Sammy didn’t.”

“You had just saved the world, Dean.  Of course you deserved Christmas.”

Dean pulls one leg up and wraps his arms around it. “No, Sammy did that. And my memories of Hell did not include snowmen and candy canes, so it didn’t seem right that I had those things and he didn’t.”

Castiel lays a soothing hand on Dean’s shoulder and Dean lets him.

“The thing is,” Dean continues, “Christmas was always so messed up for us. I don’t think I ever really figured out what it was all about.”

“Well it’s all new to me, but Chris told me that it's much more simple than people think,” Castiel says. “He says that Christmas is about love.”

“Yeah, I think maybe it is, Cas.”  Dean smiles at Castiel.  “And I’d say your friend Chris is one wise old dude.” 

______________________________

 

They didn’t think they would get to see Charlie at all. She’s been busy since she and Dorothy returned from Oz.  But when Sam finally reaches her on Skype, it is close to midnight.  Castiel is wrapping gifts somewhere, so Dean takes a quick picture and sends it to Castiel, telling him to come see Charlie.

“Merry Christmas bitches!”  Charlie greets them with patented Charlie-style exuberance.  Dorothy shows up in the background about the same time Castiel makes it to Sam’s room. The five of them chat for just over ten minutes before Charlie declares that it is midnight and she and Dorothy are going to privately exchange presents if they know what she means.

“We should too,” Dean says, after Charlie and Dorothy have signed off.  “I mean, we should do the gift thing now.  It’s officially Christmas.”

Castiel shrugs, looks at Sam. 

Sam nods.  “Yeah, sure.  Sounds good Dean.  I’ve gotta finish wrapping.”

“Cas and I'll go ahead and wait by the tree.”

Castiel follows Dean to their living area where the Christmas tree is decorated with age-old ornaments and lit up with new twinkling lights. Three wrapped packages are set in a stack beneath it.  Dean flicks the switch on the speaker system and the sounds of Christmas music fill the bunker.

“Is one of those for me?” Castiel asks, and Dean nods, his grin reeking of mischief.  Cas takes a picture of his first ever gift for posterity, then sends a snap of it to Sam.

“We don’t have to wait for him,” Dean decides after a minute or so, and Castiel agrees, reaching behind the couch for a brown paper bag finished with a large red bow.

“This is for you.” 

Dean takes the package and sits down on the floor by the tree.  “I told you not to buy me anything, Cas.”

“And I didn’t.”  Castiel watches eagerly as Dean pulls the bow apart. “I am told that symbolic gifts have more meaning.”

“And let me guess who told you that," Dean says brightly.  “Our buddy Chris?”

Castiel bites his lip, lets it draw up a little. Dean frees the paper bag from its ribbon restraint and reaches inside. He knows what it is as soon as he touches it.

“Your trench coat,” he says, his voice thick and low.  “Cas, no.  You should keep this.  This is –“

“What I was,” Castiel says.  “The cloak of an angel.  But you showed me another way.  I am no longer an angel, and that is the result of my choices.  Choices I never thought possible before you.  Choices that I made because of you.  For you, Dean.”

“Thank you.”  Dean squeezes the coat between his fingers, absently brushes the tan fabric of the sleeve against his cheek.  “I’ll keep it always.  For you.”

“Well I have no doubt about that, considering what you did with the first one.”

Dean laughs, recalls taking that other trench coat with him everywhere when he thought Castiel was dead, moving it from vehicle to vehicle so he would always have it, just in case.

“Now open mine.”  Dean grabs one of the packages from under the tree and jabs Castiel with it until he takes it in his hands and unwraps it.

“It’s a journal,” Dean blurts. 

Castiel runs his fingers over the soft leather cover. “I love it, Dean. Thank you.”

“I’ve already made your first entry.” Dean bounces a little on his thighs, never takes his eyes off of Castiel.  “Open it.”

Castiel pushes his eyebrows together with uncertainty, but follows Dean's direction.  Inside the cover he finds a flattened piece of mistletoe.  Castiel holds it up, admires it quietly.

“Read it." Dean nods his head, just barely, toward the book on Castiel's lap.

Castiel looks down at the hand-scrawled words on the page and reads them out loud.  “December twenty-fifth.  Dean kissed me for the first time.” 

Castiel lifts his head, slack-jawed, and Dean doesn't give Castiel time to think about it, he just leans in and does it.  He presses his lips to Castiel’s, lays his open palm against Castiel’s cheek, and he had no idea it was going to be this way, that it was going to feel so damn right, except that maybe he did.  Maybe he always did.

They hear Sam before they see him.  He clears his throat and stands by the sofa with an arm full of festively wrapped presents.

“You can wipe that shit-eating grin off your smug face, Sam,”  Dean says, his back still to Sam.

“Okay then."  Sam comes over to them and places the boxes under the tree.  "I see you didn’t wait for me.  So what exactly did you two find under the tree?”

“Christmas.” Castiel answers Sam but his gaze remains fixed on Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees.  “We found Christmas.”

 ______________________________

 

Later, in the early morning hours of the best day that ever was, Dean watches a stripped down Castiel sleep on the sofa in Castiel’s bedroom where he passed out from exhaustion, vulnerable and beautiful in his rest.  He takes a photo, to send to Cas, he tells himself, but really to remind himself how human Castiel is now, and how fucking fantastic that is.  He drops his phone on the nearest table and curls his body into the space beside Castiel.

 ______________________________

 

Sam has been messing with his computer. Again.  This time he has changed the backdrop to a picture of a Christmas ornament – two snowmen sharing a rainbow striped scarf.

“Very funny Sam,” Dean mutters as he photographs it and sends it back to Sam. 

Sam texts him immediately.   _By the way, I love the sweater Castiel got me._

 _You're welcome,_ Dean replies.

_Hey Dean, do you know what happens to two idiots who together break the rules in Heaven, Hell and Purgatory and then finally find Christmas here on earth?_

Dean grins, taps out his response.  _No, what happens to them Sam_?

_They live happily ever after._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the snap chat inspired story. The next chapter is a brief epilogue in Sam's POV with a little insight into his feelings about this Christmas and is entirely optional.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://thestoryinsideme.tumblr.com//) here!


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few thoughts in Sam's POV.

One time, when Dean was eleven years old, their Dad took them out to an empty field behind an abandoned factory, where he let Dean drive the Impala. As bored as Sam was – he was only seven at the time - Sam will never forget Dean’s face as he tightly gripped the steering wheel with both hands, because Sam had never seen anything quite like it before. He hasn’t seen anything quite like it since, either. Until today.

And he has, throughout the years, watched for it, because something about Dean’s face that day, the simple look of pure joy, made Sam feel good. Not good as in pleasant, but good as in blameless. Good as in worthy.

He’s not quite sure why his own happiness and self-worth has always been so tied into his brother’s, but he’s learned to accept it. He knows it’s probably not healthy, but let’s face it, nothing about their lives would be considered healthy under normal circumstances.

So now he feels good, good as in pleasant, about his part in the Christmas miracle that happened yesterday, here in the bunker. When Dean refused to participate in the holiday in any way, as he had expected he would, he did what he had to do, what he and Dean always do. He lied.

Carlos never called. There never was any research to do for any hunters, and both Dean and Castiel fell for it hook, line, and sinker. The photo idea came to him in the moment, when he realized it would be the perfect way to make Dean stay present during his forced time with Castiel.

It's like a duck to water, the way Dean has taken to loving Castiel, as if their bond is not just “profound,” but intrinsic. Sam hates to use the words destiny or fate almost as much as Dean does, but it’s hard to ignore, sometimes, when two people fit together so steadfastly, so absolutely, the possibility that there may be forces at work beyond human, even angelic comprehension. He doesn’t know, but he knows enough to know that anything is possible.

Seeing them now, entwined on Castiel’s couch in a burden-free rest seven years in the making, Sam feels a bit envious. He hates that he feels this way because Dean deserves this, Dean is a hero.  But still, he wants it too. He always has, and he wonders if he can ever have this, or if his chance has already come and gone. He wonders if there is one more miracle left out there, if he’ll ever find his own Christmas.

Sam smiles, closes the door of Castiel’s room and leaves the two men to their sleep. For now, he can’t remember having a better holiday than this one, and it’s enough for him. He puts on the sweater Castiel bought, makes a single cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows, then spreads out on the sofa by the tree and begins to read the book Dean gave him; Melville’s Moby-Dick. It’s always been one of his favorites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part wasn't planned - it just kind of happened. Still not sure I will keep it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://thestoryinsideme.tumblr.com//) here!


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